


Life

by LadyLuckDoubt



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Crack, M/M, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme, prisonsex, rarepairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-18
Updated: 2011-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLuckDoubt/pseuds/LadyLuckDoubt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kristoph Gavin and Matt Engarde... find love ...with each other... while incarcerated.</p><p>Yeah, not at all creepy and obsessive and pretty-on-the-outside sociopathic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on the Kink Meme wanted:   
> _Yes  
>  You read it wright.   
> I would LOVE someone who is commonly considered incapable of love (preferred would be Manny, Dollie, Matt or April) absolutely head-ove-r-heels in love with somebody. (Anyone you want).   
> FLUFF PLEASE._
> 
>  _(glutting Producers, captcha? are you talking about Sal??)_
> 
> Anyway, I saw that and thought, "Who's considered the worst of the worst villains in this series?" Matt Engarde and his unbalanced sociopathy and seemingly harmless facade came to mind, as did Kristoph's.
> 
> Then something weird happened, and I wrote this and started thinking, "Yanno, that's actually a logical pairing if you think about it."

The universe has a strange sense of humour, I find myself thinking for the ten billionth time as I notice, in a patch of fire exit light glow from outside, his naked shoulder, and pull the blanket over him.

I don't like to think of him cold and uncomfortable. 

He's all I have left now, barring memories of my glory days; he has his own, some of which he's told me about, many which remain as much a mystery to me as what the world is like out there now.

I'm still surprised that he's older than me; he's looked after himself. Of course, I've aged in here, badly; spending eight years in a dank, smoky hellhole and no chance of healthy low-fat food and proper skin treatments, and you'd look like shit, too. I wonder when he's going to start looking haggard, when the prison complexion sets in.

  
When I was first told that I'd be getting a cellmate, I was less than impressed. I'd been here by myself for so long; I'd managed to find a lawyer who managed to get me a life sentence in protective custody, arguing that someone with my fame and looks would suffer immensely in prison. 

  
One look at him, and I knew why  _he_  was in protective custody. I wasn't sure whether my first reaction was that I finally had something to hunger for here, something to amuse me, a new toy to play with until it was broken; or whether it was a huge, disgusted sense of jealousy. I'd been put here for my own protection, and they were introducing  _this_? Why? Who made  _it_  so important, anyway? Sure, it was pretty enough, but...

I know my first thoughts about him were  _not_  particularly kind. He irritated me-- there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes; he must have known about me from when he was a kid or something-- but when he heard one of the screws call out to me, he turned around and smirked at me.

"So  _you're_  Matt Engarde?" 

"Yes. Your favourite childhood icon, tarnished," I said. Offering a smile; refreshing like a spring breeze for a moment of nostalgia.

"No," he said quietly. "I remember you from the trial. I never watched that show--" then a double-take-- "I'm thirty three." As though I didn't have adult fans. I despised him.

"Wright defended you, didn't he?" 

I'd forgotten his name, but upon hearing it again, I was interested. I couldn't help but look at...

"I was a lawyer.  _That_  was what I was watching on television."

It's funny how the world works. 

We bonded over Wright, I recall. If it weren't for Wright, neither of us would have been in here, and that was what pushed us through the early days of what would have probably otherwise ended in someone's death. And I liked my chances of survival better than his.

I liked having company, I realised. I missed intelligent conversation, which I never thought I'd actually  _find_  in here, and which I seldom found out there. I liked his voice; he spoke in a quiet, cultured sort of way, as though he'd had an accent from somewhere else at some stage in his life.

I found myself watching him, in a completely strange manner, after a few days.

There was nothing I could get from him-- well, I probably  _could_  have done him the sort of damage which could have landed me back in court and him in the hospital wing and then the psych unit. But for some reason, such an idea was obscene. I wanted his company. His attention. His humour. His perfect untarnished body... but I wanted him to offer those willingly, otherwise, there was no point.

Until those few days after he arrived in my cell, my  _new room mate_ , the screws had said with a chuckle-- as though I would go mad with jealousy or kill him-- I realised something strange within myself: I was feeling something I wasn't used to. This wasn't refreshing, this was an almost-drugged uncertainty, an obsession, something I realised I could never successfully replicate on stage which probably accounted for why I missed romantic leads when I went for film auditions.

 

It was when he accidentally brushed against me while he was reading, one evening-- his favourite book, apparently--  _My Best Friend_ \-- that I realised that I wanted more accidental touches from him-- and intentional ones, too-- and everything in the world seemed to suddenly depend on that like it never, ever had to me before. People never  _really_  felt like this just about... other people...  _did they_?

  
Apparently so, and apparently  _I_  was one of these people. 

In the most unlikely of places, I, Matt Engarde, finally developed an understanding of the most senseless and purposeful level of feeling ever. 

  
Pure and simple and more powerful than any performance I've given or drug I've consumed; more powerful than the buzz one gets from power itself:  _love_.

It took me twenty-nine years, and a life sentence complete with murder charges, to finally get it. 

  


 

I'm watching him sleep, an arm tucked over him protectively. He's bigger than me; taller, at least, and older, but I still feel an incredibly strong sense of protectiveness towards him. I've been here for eight years. He always looked like, walked like, the kind of man who'd never seen the inside of a prison before this. I remember the night he finally broke; only a little bit, about a week afterwards.

"Dude?" I'd asked into the darkness. 

He sniffled. He sounded incredibly helpless then, and that was probably when I had the first inkling that something was weird. I felt really sad for him them, rather than incredibly turned on. 

"I miss... my  _dog_." 

I wanted to climb off the bunk and into bed with him then, I wanted to put my arms around him and squeeze every sob out of him until he was calm enough to sleep properly. 

I had no idea why. 

  
He doesn't cry any more; no, that was a one-off. He's quiet and dignified and because we both got life, we've calmed down. Home sweet home, our room is. He reads a lot of books-- I like watching him read because he still manages to look so peaceful and removed from what surrounds him here; I find myself regretting being here, wishing that in some parallel universe I'd never gotten caught and he hadn't, either, in a world where I'm still a millionaire actor and he doesn't  _have_  to be a lawyer because he's mine and all he needs to do is be pampered by my staff, live in my house and read books in the massive library that I had installed for his use. And of course, he  _wants_  to do that and... hopefully it's because he loves me at least half as much as I love him.

Of course, I can't regret getting caught. I can't regret being here. I would have missed out on this. On  _him_. I think about how very close I came to getting proven innocent by Wright-- that name makes me  _smile_  now-- it's a private injoke between us-- and shudder. I've lost everything except the love of my life.

Who I get to spend the rest of my life with.


End file.
